Clouds look black and wild; wind rising, and ship working hard against a heavy sea, which breaks over the forecastle, and washes aft through the scuppers. Still, no more sail is taken in, for the captain is a driver, and, like all drivers, very partial to his topgallant sails. A topgallant sail, too, makes the difference between a breeze and a gale. When a topgallant sail is on a ship, it is only a breeze, though I have seen ours set over a reefed topsail, when half the bowsprit was under water, and it was up to a man’s knees in the scuppers. At eight bells, nothing is said about reefing the topsails, and the watch go below, with orders to “stand by for a call.” We turn in, growling at the “old man” for not reefing the topsails when the watch was changed, but putting it off so as to call all hands, and break up a whole watch below. Turn in “all standing,” and keep ourselves awake, saying there is no use in going asleep to be waked up again.—Wind whistles on deck, and ship works hard, groaning and creaking, and pitching into a heavy head sea, which strikes against the bows, with a noise like knocking upon a rock.—The dim lamp in the forecastle swings to and fro, and things “fetch away” and go over to leeward.—“Doesn’t that booby of a second mate ever mean to take in his topgallant sails?—He’ll have the sticks out of her soon,” says old Bill, who was always growling, and, like most old sailors, did not like to see a ship abused.—By-and-by an order is given—“Aye, aye, sir!” from the forecastle;—rigging is heaved down on deck;—the noise of a sail is heard fluttering aloft, and the short, quick cry which sailors make when hauling upon clewlines.—“Here comes his foretopgallant sail in!”—We are wide awake, and know all that’s going on as well as if we were on deck.—A well-known voice is heard from the masthead singing out the officer of the watch to haul taut the weather brace.—“Hallo! There’s S⸺ aloft to furl the sail!”—Next thing, rigging is heaved down directly over our heads, and a long-drawn cry and a rattling of hanks announce that the flying jib has come in.—The second mate holds on to the main topgallant sail until a heavy sea is shipped, and washes over the forecastle as though the whole ocean had come aboard; when a noise further aft shows that that sail, too, is taking in. After this, the ship is more easy for a time; two bells are struck, and we try to get a little sleep. By-and-by, bang, bang, bang, on the scuttle—“All ha-a-ands, a ho-o-y!”—We spring out of our berths, clap on a monkey jacket and southwester, and tumble up the ladder.—Mate up before us, and on the forecastle, singing out like a roaring bull; the captain singing out on the quarterdeck, and the second mate yelling, like a hyena, in the waist. The ship is lying over half upon her beam-ends; lee scuppers under water, and forecastle all in a smother of foam.—Rigging all let go, and washing about decks; topsail yards down upon the caps, and sails flapping and beating against the masts; and starboard watch hauling out the reef tackles of the main topsail. Our watch haul out the fore, and lay aloft and put two reefs into it, and reef the foresail, and race with the starboard watch, to see which will masthead its topsail first. All hands tally on to the main tack, and while some are furling the jib, and hoisting the staysail, we mizen topmen double-reef the mizen topsail and hoist it up. All being made fast—“Go below, the watch!” and we turn in to sleep out the rest of the time, which is perhaps an hour and a half. During all the middle, and for the first part of the morning watch, it blows as hard as ever, but toward daybreak it moderates considerably, and we shake a reef out of each topsail, and set the topgallant sails over them and when the watch come up, at seven bells, for breakfast, shake the other reefs out, turn all hands to upon the halyards, get the watch tackle upon the topgallant sheets and halyards, set the flying jib, and crack on to her again.
Our captain had been married only a few weeks before he left Boston; and, after an absence of over two years, it may be supposed he was not slow in carrying sail. The mate, too, was not to be beaten by anybody; and the second mate, though he was afraid to press sail, was afraid as death of the captain, and being between two fears, sometimes carried on longer than any of them. We snapped off three flying jib booms in twenty-four hours, as fast as they could be fitted and rigged out; sprung the spritsail yard; and made nothing of studding sail booms. Beside the natural desire to get home, we had another reason for urging the ship on. The scurvy270 had begun to show itself on board. One man had it so badly as to be disabled and off duty, and the English lad, Ben, was in a dreadful state, and was daily growing worse. His legs
